Bittersweet
by shakeitsalome
Summary: "This isn't about me!" he shouted, slamming the oven door shut. She reared back in surprise and he turned away, disgusted. With her. With himself. "I can't go through this again, Steph." - A four-part prequel to Under Your Spell. HHH/Stephanie McMahon.
1. Part One

**A/N: Hello, lovelies! I hope this Monday afternoon finds you all well. Today I've got a special treat for you!**

 **Bittersweet is a one-shot in three parts. Yes, that's a thing. I'm calling it a longshot. :D Think of this as a prequel to Under Your Spell. It gets down to the nitty gritty on a certain couple. Today's installment is Part One, and the next two Mondays will see the other two installments. I hope this answers questions, and settles a few minds.**

 **(Also, please note that I absolutely adore Stephanie. She is Queen. My woman crush. She's what I'd like to be if I ever grow up.)**

Bittersweet

Part One

 _Summer 2014_

Forehead resting against his palm, Paul Levesque applied gentle pressure, hoping to fend off the headache that had been brewing for two hours. Even as he did so he knew it was no use. One glance across his desk to the mountain of paperwork waiting told him that he would be stuck at the office for the next several hours. He tapped his pen against the desk, the lists of figures starting to all look alike, and sighed.

"Ahh," he groused, dropping the pen and pushing his chair away from the desk. He tilted his chair back and stared at the ceiling. As though if he looked away the papers would magically see to themselves. It was his own fault, he conceded. He'd let the business side of life wait too long. If he'd come in and done the work as soon as it popped up, he wouldn't have to spend his Saturday night with only a stack of folders and the cleaning crew for company. And if he hadn't told his assistant to take the weekend off, he could have probably gotten him to do the bulk of the work for him.

But Ed had needed a few days off. A self-admitted workaholic, the young man had started to show signs of insomnia. Paul had urged him to see a doctor several times, finally telling him that if he didn't take a few days to go home and rest he'd start looking for a new assistant.

Sighing, he nudged the side of his desk with one foot. As the chair turned he found himself looking down and caught sight of the stack of framed photographs sitting on the floor. Yet another thing he hadn't gotten around to doing yet. With a grunt he leaned over to grab them. He knew he should ignore them for a couple more days, what with the Board of Directors meeting coming up on Tuesday morning. But the little table his wife had given him to put the pictures on was already set up. It was empty, shockingly. And maybe the faces of his loved ones would inspire him to actually get through his work.

"Yeah, right," he muttered, scooting the chair over so he could reach the small table tucked in the corner. He set up the frames one by one, somehow managing to not study each photo. He even managed to arrange them so with one glance he could see them all. Adjusting the photo of his daughters so it was in the center, he let his gaze linger on it for a moment. It was a little dated now. Vaughan was a rangy preschooler now… But he loved the picture of her as a wide-eyed baby, tucked between her older sisters. It wasn't often that all three of his girls were still and quiet long enough to take a photo. Rarer still that they all looked at the camera at the same time.

He smiled, grabbing the photo and turning to put it on his desk. He had to shove the fancy set of desk accessories that Vince had given him to the side, but finally his girls stared at him from the front of his desk. That was better.

Picking up his pen again, he forced himself to get back to work.

Miraculously, he worked his way through nearly a third of the stack. He stopped to get up and stretch, tensing when he heard movement out in the hall. There was a thump, as though a body had fallen against his office door, then the knob rattled and the door was pushed open.

"Daddy!" Vaughan was the first one in, practically mowing down her eldest sister. She was a long-legged, blonde blur coming at him, and before he could register that her sisters were right behind her she had latched onto his legs. Not for the first time, he was surprised at her strength.

He masked a wince when her head slammed against his thigh, one hand dropping to steady her as Aurora and Murphy squeezed close so they could embrace him as well. Grunting in surprise, he made sure to greet them each individually, then swung his gaze to the door. "What are you doing here?"

Stephanie wasn't dressed for a visit to the office on a Saturday evening. The first thing he noticed was that her hair and makeup were done. Taking in the short skirt, sleeveless top, and jewelry, he immediately looked to the calendar, certain he'd forgotten an important event.

"Mommy's going to New York!" Vaughan announced.

"The girls are there," Stephanie explained, checking her appearance in a small mirror she'd plucked from her purse. "We're just meeting for drinks."

The girls. Paul inwardly cringed, thinking of the oversexed, giggling women that always had a cocktail in hand. College roommates. Her sisters, she called them, though their bond was weak one. Considering how she talked about them when they weren't around, he wondered how she could stand their company. The only thing they had in common was that they'd all lived in the same townhouse and had attended a few of the same classes. It seemed to Paul that the only reason they ever met up was to drink. And he knew that meeting for a few drinks equaled Stephanie being gone all night.

"Are you guys going to Grandma's?" he asked his daughters. Murphy and Vaughan had drifted away to play with the box of action figures he would eventually set up on a shelf. Aurora shook her head, then she drifted off to look at the photos on the table.

"Mom and Dad are at a fundraiser tonight." Stephanie crossed the office and looked pointedly at the stacks of papers and folders. "Paul, honestly—"

"I'm getting it done," he cut in before she could launch into a tirade. "Are you taking the girls to Maggie?" he asked, thinking of the woman they used as an occasional babysitter. She'd been used more frequently in recent months. Ever since Stephanie had fired the nanny.

"She can't do it. They'll have to stay with you."

Paul blinked, one hand gesturing to his desk. "But I—"

"God, Paul, it won't kill you to spend time with your daughters," she nearly screeched. "Just put a DVD in for them while you work."

"Steph—"

"I've got to run, the driver's waiting."

Paul opened his mouth to say that the driver could continue to wait, only to sigh when Stephanie began saying her goodbyes to the girls. Knowing he was defeated, he leaned to give his wife a kiss. She turned her head at the last second, causing his lips to bump against her cheek. "Have fun," he said as her hand patted his chest.

"I will. Don't wait up." The words were said over her shoulder, and she was gone on a cloud of perfume and hairspray.

Seconds ticked by. Paul stared at his desk, wondering how he was supposed to focus on work with three kids in the office. No matter what DVD he put in, someone would lose interest and look to him for entertainment.

"Daddy? Can we eat now? I'm starving." Murphy tossed the action figure she held back into the box.

"You haven't eaten?" he grunted in surprise.

"Mommy said you'd feed us," Vaughan said.

"Can we get pizza?" Aurora asked.

"At the place with the claw machine?" Murphy added, expression hopeful.

"Ooh! Yes!" Vaughan exclaimed, abandoning the action figures. "I want a toy from the machine!"

"I want to pick songs on the jukebox," Aurora enthused.

"Please, Daddy?"

One question, asked at the same time, in the same tone, by all three of his daughters.

Paul knew he wasn't strong enough to say no. Dragging a hand down his face, images of his father-in-law slapping him over the head with unfinished paperwork dancing in the back of his mind, he sighed. "Alright, we'll get pizza," he relented. "Just let daddy get a few things together."

"I'll get a toy?" Vaughan's lips puckered into a small pout.

"If I have to spend all my cash, yes," he promised, stooping to press a kiss to the top of her head. "And after pizza and songs and toys, we'll go home and you can play or watch a movie while I get some work done. Deal?"

It was later than he'd thought it would be when they got home. Vaughan, arms loaded with stuffed toys, had fallen asleep on the way from the restaurant. Aurora was telling him about an upcoming history test, which he found himself promising to help her study for the next day. Murphy, with more than a couple stuffed toys of her own, was quiet, subdued by a full stomach and the promise of leftover pizza for lunch the next day.

The house was quiet, as he'd expected, as he toted a sleeping Vaughan upstairs to her room. She woke long enough to protest that she wasn't sleepy while he dressed her in her pajamas, then shuffled to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Once in bed, newest toys tucked around her, she beamed up at him.

"I like when you tuck me in," she murmured.

"Yeah? Why's that?" he asked softly, leaning to switch on her nightlight.

"You tuck tightest." She pointed to where her toes wriggled beneath the blanket. "My feet can't take me away."

"Well thank God for that." Grinning, he hunkered down. "I'd miss you too much if they did."

"I'd miss you too." Vaughan's arms went around his neck and squeezed. "G'night, Daddy."

"Goodnight, Pumpkin." Pressing several kisses to her cheeks and forehead, he waited until her arms loosened before straightening. "I love you."

"Love you more," she called once he was at the door.

He chuckled, deciding to pretend he didn't see her sneak her thumb into her mouth. "Sweet dreams."

Murphy met him in the hall, already wearing her pajamas. A spot of toothpaste on her chin was evidence that she'd brushed her teeth. Once Vaughan's door was closed, the middle child dramatically crumpled to the floor. "Daddy… Can't… Walk…"

"Oh no," he answered dramatically, bending over. He made a show of trying to lift her, and her giggles warmed his heart. "Can't… Lift…" Grunting, he finally grabbed an ankle. "Guess I'll just have to drag you, huh?"

"Daddy, don't!" she laughed, squealing when he pulled her along towards her room.

He dropped her ankle and scooped her off the floor, joining her laughter as she flopped over his shoulder. "Where's your sister?"

"Brushing her teeth." Murphy laughed harder when he dropped her in the center of her bed. "Hey, Daddy, how come Maggie won't watch us anymore?"

Paul froze at the question. Hand on her pillow to move it so he could draw back the covers, he looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Mom said so. She called her before we went to see you and asked if we could stay over there. Then Maggie said something but I couldn't hear it because Mom didn't have the speakerphone on. And Mom called her a bi—" Murphy cut off and cleared her throat. "A rhymes-with-witch, and said that she didn't see why she couldn't change her dinner plans. Then Maggie said something else. Then Mom was really mad and said it'd be a cold day in hell before she let some dried up old hag watch her babies again. Then she hung up and told us that Maggie won't be watching us anymore. So how come? I like going to Maggie's. I want her to watch us again. She's fun."

Blinking, Paul took a few seconds to register the girl's speech. Murphy had a tendency to repeat everything she heard, which sometimes was a blessing and sometimes, a curse. Right now, he wasn't sure which it was. "Don't worry about it," he said finally, drawing back the covers and stepping back so she could settle in. He tucked her in loosely. She was a kicker, and her feet needed freedom. "I'll talk it over with Mom."

"Okay." Murphy picked up the book on her nightstand.

"Just one chapter," he advised. Giving her a kiss, he looked to the bookmark in the center of the book. "Halfway done already?"

"Yeah and it's so good! Rora was helping me with the big words."

Paul smiled. "Remember to—"

"Mark them so I can look them up tomorrow. And sometimes I don't have to, because I can figure it out just by reading a little more." She opened the book and lovingly smoothed the pages.

"That's my girl," he encouraged. "Goodnight."

"Night." She leaned up for another kiss.

"Love you."

"Love you," she echoed.

He found Aurora downstairs, flipping through the DVDs in the family room. He would never understand the room's moniker, able to count on one hand the amount of times all five of them had been in the room for more than a few seconds. "I'll be right down the hall in my office," he said, taking her selected DVD so he could load it for her. He didn't comment on the fact that she'd brought her pillow and blanket downstairs, knowing she was sensitive about her inability to sleep without an adult close by.

"Daddy?" she asked while they waited for the main menu to show up on the screen. "Can you work in here?"

He thought of his home office, with the uncomfortable desk chair and cluttered desk. Gaze moving to the large couch and empty coffee table, then to the hopeful expression on Auroras face, he found himself nodding. "Get the movie started," he said, handing over the remote. "I'll be right back."

After retrieving his briefcase, he returned to the family room, grateful the TV's volume was low. He'd be able to concentrate on the work without the cacophony of… "Hey, turn it up," he requested.

"Is Kuzco your favorite?" Aurora asked.

"You know it." Joining her on the couch, he made sure to open his briefcase and reach for the first sheaf of papers. But his eyes stayed on the TV.

Within half an hour, the papers were back in his briefcase, which had been nudged to the side to make room for his feet. Aurora was cuddled close, half-asleep. He waited until the movie finished before gently extricating his body from under hers. A light sleeper, she stirred, but quickly settled back once he tucked her blanket over her.

TV off, papers spread in front of him, he forced himself to work. He couldn't help but think that Vince intentionally gave him mind-numbing financial reports to look over, especially when he came across three copies of the same one. Muttering a curse under his breath he shoved them in with the first one, glancing to his phone when the screen lit up with a series of texts.

Expecting them to be the ramblings of his half-drunk wife, he picked up his phone. He was surprised to see they were from Regal, who rarely messaged him on weekends. The first was a short video clip of two women grappling in a poorly-lit ring, then Regal's commentary on the particular skill of one of the women. Paul watched the video again, and was certain Regal had to be talking about the redhead. At least, he supposed she was a redhead. And while he couldn't judge her entire performance based on one fifteen second clip, he could tell there was some skill. About to ask where Regal had discovered her, he smiled when the Englishman sent yet another text giving the name of a minor independent promotion based in Orlando.

 _Get her name and see if there are any videos of her online_ , he texted. He had no doubt that the man would have a disc containing all of the young woman's available videos waiting for him on Monday. Then, curious, he asked how Regal had come across her.

 _I keep my ears open_ , came the enigmatic reply. _See you Monday._

Paul was about to put his phone aside when one last message was delivered, this time including a photo of Regal with a petite redhead.

 _Sophia. Her last name is Mason, but she only works under her first name._

Paul nodded to himself and set his phone aside. Then, pushing thoughts of Regal's discovery out of his mind, he got back to work.

* * *

When he awoke, his neck ached. Groaning, he sat up, easily sliding Vaughan from his lap. He rubbed the back of his neck, mentally cursing the fact he'd let himself fall asleep on the couch. Seeing the papers scattered across the coffee table, he sighed and, yawning, began gathering them to stuff them back into his suitcase. He checked his phone for the time, only to find it had died. Making sure he didn't wake the girls, he slipped off the couch and headed into the kitchen.

The coffeemaker still held the remains of Stephanie's coffee the previous day. Grumbling under his breath, he cleaned it out and started a fresh pot for himself, noting as he did that it was just past eight. The house was quiet, more so than usual on a Sunday morning due to his wife's absence. He had no idea what time Murphy and Vaughan had crept down to the family room, but he had a feeling they would sleep for another hour at least. Long enough for him to get his phone charged enough to check his messages, and to flip through the work he'd brought home to make sure he'd finished it all.

Coffee in hand, he carried his briefcase and dead phone to his office. While his phone charged he glanced through the papers, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw his initials on each document. Half of them he couldn't remember looking at, but after so many hours they'd all started to look alike. His phone came to life as he closed his briefcase and he gave it a moment, quirking a brow when it vibrated madly with incoming messages.

Trying to decipher his wife's ramblings gave him a headache. He scrolled through them, pausing now and then to view blurry photos. Her knee. A bathroom floor. Empty glasses cluttering a table. He assumed she'd sent them by accident, for they made no sense. Sipping his coffee, he shook his head as he scanned the rest of the messages. The last was somewhat coherent, and he suspected one of her friends had sent it.

 _Crashing at the hotel. See you._

He looked at the time. Nearly nine. Surely she was awake by now. He sent a message telling her he'd be taking the girls to the park if she wanted to join them when she got back. He waited a few minutes in case she replied then shrugged and set his phone down, figuring she was either still sleeping it off or taking a shower.

The girls seemed hyper after breakfast, and he was glad of his plan to take them out. He tried calling Stephanie on the way to the park, frowning when his call went straight to voicemail. Once he'd released the kids in the park and they were running off their excess energy he went through his contacts list to find one of her friends' numbers.

"Hello," a voice croaked after the third ring.

"Penny?" Thinking of the vivacious blonde that had a perpetual high-pitched voice, Paul wondered if maybe he'd put in the wrong number all those months ago when Stephanie had given them to him.

"Yeah."

"It's Paul." When she made no sounds of recognition, he cleared his throat. "Stephanie's husband?"

"Oh. Right. What's up?"

"Just wondering if you knew where she was."

"Hang on, let me think… What time is it?"

"Almost one," he answered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Ugh. We didn't get in until after five."

Wondering just what the hell they'd been doing out that late, Paul sighed. "My wife?"

"Steph? She's in one of the rooms. She upgraded us to a suite." There was a pained groan, then a muttered curse. "God, my head…"

"Can you power through and go check on her for me?"

"I'm not going in there. She's not alone." Penny groaned again, and in the background was the sound of water running. "I think she got the Italian. You know how she loves the tall, dark, and handsome ones. Couldn't keep her hands off him."

"What?"

"I said I'm not going in there." Penny's voice was louder this time, and she hissed in pain. "Who did you say you were?"

"Paul." Watching his daughters, he gripped the phone tightly. "Her husband."

"Oh, right. Anyway, she's busy. You want me to slip a note under the door for her to call you?"

He doubted she'd be able to write legibly, considering she was still feeling the effects of a long night out she kept forgetting who he was. "No, that's alright. Italian, you said?"

"Sex on legs," Penny sighed enviously. "Steph gets all the hotties."

"Yeah," Paul muttered. "Thanks a lot, Penny."

"Sure."

She ended the call and he lowered his phone, mind racing. He realized he had no idea what hotel they were at, and doubted Penny would be able to remember either. And knowing the name of the hotel wouldn't do him a damned bit of good. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now.

The same thing he'd always done, he supposed. Which was fuck-all.

"Did you just talk to Mom?"

Looking down, Paul realized Murphy had broken away from her sisters and come over to him. His head shot up and he saw with relief that Aurora and Vaughan were together at the swings. "What are you talking about?"

"You look irritated." Murphy tilted her head to one side. "You always look like that when you talk to Mom on the phone."

Shit, was he so transparent? Rubbing a hand over his face, he reached for her outstretched hand. "It was just business, Murph."

"Oh." She squeezed his hand, eyes betraying the fact that she didn't really believe him. "Will you come play with us?"

"Play what?" he asked, eyes on Vaughan as she skipped towards them.

Before Murphy could answer, his youngest slapped a hand against his thigh and darted out of his reach. "Tag!" she shouted, grinning. "You're it!"

Murphy dropped his hand like it was made of fire. "Daddy's it!" she called to Aurora.

Paul watched his daughters start to run away from him. He stayed where he was briefly, then, pushing the negative thoughts away, raced after them.

* * *

He'd packed the girls up for a few days with their grandmother. Linda was a force to be reckoned with, until it came to her grandchildren, when she became a soft-hearted, cookie-giving bundle of warmth and hugs. When asked, he'd said that Stephanie was with friends in New York, having no idea what, if anything, she'd said to her parents about her weekend plans. Linda had smiled, saying how understanding he was about Stephanie needing time with her friends. She worked so hard, and the girls kept her busy. A day or two here and there to relax and not worry was exactly what she needed.

Paul snorted as he recalled the comment, shoving things he would need for two days on the road into his suitcase. He wondered what Linda's reaction would have been had he said her precious daughter was recovering from a night of alcohol and sex with a stranger. Though, considering Vince's history, he doubted Linda would have been too shocked. But maybe she would be. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't say it. The satisfaction of having one over on his wife wouldn't be worth the fallout.

He'd packed, set his cases at the door, and was double-checked his flight time. He was taking a late flight, always traveling the night before. Stephanie would fly out the next morning with Vince. He was leaning against one of the kitchen stools waiting for the casserole he'd found in the freezer to finish cooking when he heard the garage door rattle open. A moment later it clanged shut.

"Hey, good looking," she greeted as she entered the house through the side door of the kitchen. She was wearing jeans and a light jacket, and it occurred to him that she must have prepared for a full night and day away from home. "Where are the girls?"

"With your mom," he answered, not moving from the stool.

"Mm. Are you cooking?" She dropped her large purse on the counter.

"Heating up one of those casseroles from the freezer. You hungry?"

"I grabbed a bite before catching the train." She was pulling off her jacket, revealing a snug t-shirt. Then she was rounding the counter, her lips curved. "How much longer until it's done?"

"Fifteen or twenty." Exhaling in surprise when she straddled his outstretched legs, he instinctively grabbed her hips to keep them both from falling.

"That's long enough to get started," she whispered, pushing her lips to his for a sultry kiss.

Her tongue still held the flavor of alcohol. He broke the kiss and leaned back. "Start what?"

"You know." Her hands were scrabbling at the hem of his shirt. "The girls are gone. You're leaving. I want to fuck."

"Steph—"

"I want to fuck, Paul," she snapped, eyes glinting.

"Didn't you fuck last night?"

She loosened her grip on his shirt and narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I talked to Penny this afternoon."

"That loudmouthed bitch," Stephanie sneered. "Why the hell were you talking to her?"

"Because I was worried about you. And she told me about you and the Italian."

She rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on his shirt again. "Oh well, so you know. He wasn't even that great. And I made sure he wore a condom—"

"Christ," he hissed in disgust, pushing her off him.

"Paul!"

He saw the ring he'd given her glitter as she stumbled against the counter. He saw the indignation growing in her, too, but bitterness won over common sense. "Did you at least take off your wedding ring before you let him fuck you?" he spat, pushing himself to his feet. "Hell, did you at least get his name?"

"What difference does it make? And why the hell do you care?"

"You said you were done with that shit," he reminded her. Appetite ruined, he stalked over to turn off the oven. "Remember?"

"Like you haven't gotten drunk and plowed the nearest woman in the past nine years," she retorted.

"I haven't. And I know you don't want to believe it, but I never plowed women before you made that little promise after Aurora was born." Grabbing a potholder, he took out the casserole and set it down forcefully on top of the cooktop. It was done, he noted blankly, throwing the potholder onto the counter.

She snorted, showing her disbelief, yanking open a cabinet to take down plates. "Please. You were all over—"

"This isn't about me!" he shouted, slamming the oven door shut. She reared back in surprise and he turned away, disgusted. With her. With himself. "I can't go through this again, Steph."

"Paul." Her voice was gentler now. Pleading. She touched his arm.

"We've got three daughters. I'm not going to stand by and watch you ruin their lives." He turned, shaking her hand off, and was surprised when she took a step back. Pulling open a drawer, he grabbed forks. "I won't let you shatter their image of you by acting like a…"

"A what?" she challenged when he trailed into a sigh. "A whore? Is that what I'm acting like, Paul?"

"Don't—"

"Funny that you don't want me acting like a whore, considering that's how I got your interest to begin with. Remember?" She lowered her voice, tone mocking. "'I'm going to fuck you like a whore tonight.'"

"Stephanie—"

"Such a good little whore. Ride me, _whore_. Bend over, _whore_. Swallow it, **whore**!" She was screeching now. "What's the matter, Paul? Don't want other people to know you married a whore?"

"They already know, trust me," he fired back.

Her palm crashed against his cheek before he could react. Silence descended upon the kitchen, broken only by the sounds of their breathing. Paul raised a hand to his stinging cheek and stared at her, wincing at the sudden taste of blood. Easing his tongue over the inside of his cheek, he felt a gouge left by his teeth.

Shoulders rising and falling with each breath, she backed away. "Never, ever say that again," she snarled.

"Stephanie," he began, reaching for her. But she slipped away before he could catch her arm.

"Eat your dinner."

"We need to talk," he insisted.

"No, we don't. I'm a whore, and you're perfect. Eat your dinner," she repeated, grabbing her purse and striding from the room.

He watched her go, then listened to her footsteps on the stairs. The master bedroom door slammed, the sound echoing throughout the empty house. He could hear her stomping across their room, then her high-heeled shoes clattered in the bathroom. When he heard the water in the tub start, he let his shoulders sag and dropped his gaze to the steaming casserole.

He wanted to throw it. He wanted it to crash against the wall and for the dish to shatter and for the food to go everywhere. But he knew that if he did, if it did, he would have to be the one to clean it up.

Grim, he grabbed the potholder and picked up the dish. He considered throwing it in the sink and leaving it for her to deal with, but knew the reaction wouldn't be worth the momentary satisfaction. And he didn't want to be childish. Well, he did, but he couldn't be. Marching through the side door and to the corner of the garage where the curb bins were stored, he bid farewell to his dinner and wrenched open the lid. He dropped it, dish and all, inside, then threw the potholder in after it for good measure.

He'd wanted to grab a nap before heading to the airport. He had a feeling she wouldn't let him, though. Closing the trashcan lid, he sighed. He felt lost, despite being in his own home. He longed to go upstairs and confront her again. The word 'divorce' burned in his mind, but he ignored it, recalling her reaction the last time he'd mentioned it.

She would make sure he lost everything. The house. The money. His position within the company. And, worst of all, the kids. She'd snatch it all away from him before his signature could dry on the filing. And what would he do? Start all over? At his age?

Her mocking laugh rang in his ears as he went back into the house. It echoed while he gathered his bags and loaded them in his car. It was a faint, teasing beat as he left without saying goodbye.

And it stayed there, long after he'd arrived at the airport. It lingered throughout his long wait for his flight. When he arrived at the hotel it followed him to his room. And, like a second heartbeat, it thrummed through his body as he tried to fall asleep.


	2. Part Two

**A/N: Happy Monday. Thanks to those who read and reviewed Part One. Hope you all enjoy. :)**

* * *

Part Two

 _Autumn 2014_

"This place gives me the creeps."

Paul looked up in shock at the familiar voice, grinning at the sight of an old friend in the doorway. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. Grateful for the interruption, he closed the file of pending contract renewals and rose, meeting his friend halfway in a quick hug.

"Contract extension with the old man," Chris Jericho explained. "Look at you, all respectable and shit." He shuddered dramatically. "I better keep my distance before it rubs off on me."

"Smartass," Paul muttered. "It's not that bad."

"You're in a monkey suit, plugging away the nine-to-five, and you have an office with your name on the door." Chris made a face as he settled in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He looked around, and nodded in approval. "Looks nice, though. Is that the Performance Center feed?"

Paul looked to the screens that took up a portion of one wall. "Yeah. I can see each ring, the gym. All the public areas. And the trainer's room."

"I remember when it took ages for the higher-ups to know what was going on in developmental. And if you screwed up you had plenty of time to come up with a good story. But man, that is a nice setup. I spent some time down there last week. But you probably knew that already…" Chris was watching the action on the center screen, expression thoughtful. "Does it record, too?"

"It can, but I never use that. They can record down there, too, so if one of them wants to study what they're doing wrong they have the ability." Moving the folder to one side, Paul glanced at the clock.

"Any new faces coming in anytime soon?" Chris asked, attention turning to the small stacks of papers and files on Paul's desk.

"We've got a few feelers out." An enigmatic answer, but the best one he could manage.

"Regal was telling me about a new girl getting signed this week."

"Regal's got a big mouth." Paul loosened his tie. "What else did Regal say?"

"Nothing, really. She's a spitfire in the ring but a sweetheart out. No, that wasn't the word he used. He called her a flower." Chris chuckled. "Have you seen her?"

"Not in person. I'm going down Friday. We're signing her tomorrow." Before Chris could question, he held up his hands. "Regal insisted she be allowed to do one last show with the promotion. He didn't tell me that, but I know he put that little clause in the contract revision."

"Well if Regal's taken her under his wing, she must be good."

"I've watched her tapes. She is."

Chris regarded him for a long moment. "How are things?"

"Things are good. The girls are growing like weeds, Aurora and Murphy made the honor roll. Vaughan's taking ballet classes. We're having the pool area redesigned. I got a new car." Aware of Chris' unwavering gaze, he cleared his throat. "Things are good."

"And Steph?"

He felt the muscle in his jaw twitch. "Stephanie's good."

"You know," Chris said brightly, leaning back in his seat and looking to the ceiling, "I think secretaries are very underrated."

The sudden change in topic was transparent. Paul leaned back as well, stretching his legs out with a sigh. "Really?"

"Yes, really. They sit in on important meetings, they keep up with files and appointments and scheduling… Do they still make coffee?"

"I don't know about all secretaries, but Marie does," Paul answered, speaking of the woman that kept his office life running smoothly. "And before you ask, once in a while she'll go out to get lunch for me."

"Exactly. Not to mention how careful they have to be. Marie probably knows your schedule better than you do."

"Well, probably," he admitted with a shrug.

"If she wanted to, she could blab about contract details. And she knows who's coming to see you."

"True." Paul made a mental note to get something for the somewhat motherly woman. She kept him on his toes if he showed signs of laziness in the office, but she was a warm, kind person. She always had something for the girls when they came to visit. She sent birthday cards to the family, and cards for all the holidays. When she'd heard that Aurora and Murphy had made honor roll, she'd sent them letters with enclosed gift cards to their favorite stores. Yes, she deserved a little treat. She liked flowers. He'd have a nice arrangement sent to her.

"Not to mention that she can hear any arguments you happen to have in here," Chris pointed out gently.

Fuck. Paul's chair tipped forward abruptly and he scowled at his friend. "What did you con out of her?"

"I didn't con anything," Chris defended, returning the scowl. "She asked after the wife and kids, so I was showing her pictures. And I may have said something about how Steph and the girls probably interrupted her workday whenever you were here. And she might have mentioned being ready to leave when she heard the mother of all fights start up in here last night…"

Paul groaned. Damn Marie. "Chris—"

"How long have you been sleeping in the spare room?"

All the bluster left him in a breath. Unable to stand the penetrating gaze, he stood and crossed to the window. Outside, the carefully chosen trees that dotted the landscaping trembled in the breeze. Bright yellow leaves skittered across the pavement. "Long enough."

"Paul, I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but I'm worried about you."

"It's just a little hiccup." Paul watched a leaf break free of the tree. It was airborne, the breeze sending it in several loops, a spot of yellow against the gray sky. Then it crashed to the ground, where he lost sight of it among so many others that looked alike. "You know us… By Halloween everything will be back to normal."

"If you're sure…" Chris sighed. "Look, it's almost noon. What do you say we get lunch?"

"Sure."

* * *

The echoes of blows followed Paul down the corridor leading to the locker rooms. A step ahead of him was Charles Lacey, the owner and head trainer of the tiny promotion that was based in Orlando. He knew it occasionally toured in Florida, and had attended a show here and there with Regal if his schedule allowed, usually to watch potential talent at work. Tonight was a rarity, considering the talent had already been scouted, tried out, and signed, but he had to go through the motions.

"Here we go," Charles said, stopping at a closed door. The placard affixed to the wall next to it designated it as the visitor's locker room. Taped to the door was a sign that read 'Girls' and had several lip prints in various shades. "They always do that. Says it's good luck," Charles explained. He raised his hand and knocked. "It's Charles."

A chorus of female voices called for him to enter and he pushed the door open, motioning for Paul to go in first.

He did so, only to freeze in the doorway. A dozen young women in varying stages of dress were inside, and each head turned to stare at him. One in the far corner had obviously just come out of the shower and was holding a towel in front of her. others were standing in t-shirts, some in only the briefest of panties and bras. And, in the middle, holding a bottle of whiskey to her mouth, was the newest signee to the WWE.

Barefoot, wearing only the tiny green shorts of her ring gear. Her hair, which he remembered as being in a ponytail, hung in a wild torrent of curls almost to her waist. It was only when she lowered the bottle that he realized she was topless. He felt the faint stirrings of desire and forced his gaze back to her face. Light green eyes focusing on him, she handed the bottle to the blonde beside her. Cheeks flushed, from embarrassment or the whiskey he wasn't sure, she belatedly tucked her arms across her chest.

Paul cleared his throat, propping a shoulder against the wall as he looked to the ceiling "I can wait until you've showered and dressed."

"Five minutes," she said, turning her back to him. She hurried into the showers, hair bouncing, and Paul was amused to see the other women rush after her. As soon as the locker room was empty he heard an explosion of giggles and excited whispers.

Four minutes later, he stood in the corridor waiting. Hands in his pockets, he looked up at the sound of the locker room door opening. Sophia exited, hair damp and hanging down her back. One hand clutched the handle of a suitcase, the other arm was hugging several packages to her chest. A backpack hung from one shoulder, and she was wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. Before he could offer to carry something for her, Charles was making the introductions. Paul opened his mouth to speak, but she was walking down the hallway.

When she reached the door, she glanced back at him. "Knock-knock."

"Huh?"

"You have kids, right?" She waited until he'd nodded, then said again, "Knock-knock."

"Who's there?" he asked warily.

"Needle."

"Needle who?"

"Need a little help getting through the door."

Snorting on a laugh, Paul reached around her to push the door open. "Cute."

"Always," she replied breezily, heading down the sidewalk then crossing the pavement. Paul followed, opening his mouth to tell her he'd meet her at the coffee shop a few blocks away, only to say nothing as she stopped next to a little silver sedan. "Hey," she said, shifting the packages in her arm. "Can you grab my keys out of my backpack? They're in the top pocket."

He did so, then opened the trunk for her. Instinctively he reached for her suitcase, pausing when his hand brushed over hers.

"I've got it," she assured, pushing down the handle before tossing the suitcase into the trunk. "So is this an official meeting? Or were you just scoping out the new talent?"

"Both. But it's not really official. I thought we could grab coffee or something and have a chat."

"Ohh, a chat," she murmured, slinging her backpack in beside her suitcase once she'd set the packages to one side. Paul noticed they were wrapped, and realized they must be going-away presents from others in the promotion.

"Nothing too major. Just going over your training schedule for the first couple weeks."

"Mr. Regal already did that." She closed the trunk lid then leaned against it. "But, I suppose coffee with the boss is a good way to start. Did you want to meet at Starbucks?"

Thinking of the one he'd stopped at on the way to the show, the busyness of it, and the lack of anywhere quiet, he decided against the popular shop. He shook his head. "Do you know of a place?"

"There's a nice mom-and-pop diner three blocks from here. I could do with a greasy burger. Ralph's. Turn left out of the front parking lot. It's down on the right. Can't miss it. Meet you there?"

Ten minutes later, he was seated in a corner booth with cracked vinyl seats. A tired looking waitress had just brought their drinks – coffee for him, sweet tea with lemon for Sophia – and had shuffled off to put in the rest of their order. Sophia sat across from him, shaking four sugar packets.

"Ralph's idea of sweet tea and my idea of sweet tea are on opposite ends of the spectrum," she explained, tipping the packets so their contents poured into her glass. She stirred it vigorously with the long-handled teaspoon the waitress had given her, then took a tentative sip. Her head bobbed in satisfaction and she tossed the empty packets onto the table. "So, what will be my training for the first couple of weeks?"

"Your first week will—" he cut off when she tapped the spoon against the rim of her glass, then waited for her to set it down so he could continue. "Will be a review of your current skills. I've watched your tapes, so I know what to expect."

"Will you be there?" she asked, one gray knee appearing above the edge of the table. She rested her elbow on it. "I thought you'd be busy with Raw and Smackdown."

"I won't be there until Wednesday, but the trainers will be making notes. Plus, there's a feed from the Center. All it takes is a word to my assistant and I can watch what's going on from anywhere."

"Bet that keeps everyone on their toes," she mused.

"If they're serious about training and working, they forget. It's the ones who only want their fifteen minutes that can be problematic." He looked into her eyes for a long moment. "Which are you?"

"You've watched my tapes. You watched me tonight. For all I know, you've had people spying on me for months. I did recognize Mr. Regal, though, so he was a bad choice. And I know that you never spied on me."

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"I would have noticed you." She smiled around the straw in her mouth. "You kind of fill up the room, Trips."

"Paul," he corrected.

"Hmm?"

"Call me Paul."

"Paul." She set her drink down. "So, Paul, am I after my fifteen minutes, or am I serious about my training and work?"

"Well, let's see." Paul leaned back slightly as the waitress returned to plunk a pitcher of tea in the center of the table. As she shuffled off again, he shook his head slightly. "Amazing service."

"That's Melissa. She just turned fifty. Lost her husband to cancer back in January, two days before their thirty-second anniversary. She was a housewife, and medical bills took up all of his insurance. She works here four nights a week now, and is taking online courses so she can get promoted from secretary in the real estate office she works at during the day. Two sons, both in high school."

Paul immediately felt like an asshole. "I had no idea…"

"Sorry. I was here for dinner one night alone and we got to talking. She's a really nice woman, but life gets her down a lot." Sophia frowned briefly, fingers sweeping the sugar packets into a neat pile. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"You're serious," he told her, mentally reminding himself to leave a large tip for Melissa. "From what I found online, you started training at sixteen and by the time you were twenty you were doing tours in Japan. You were offered a contract with New Japan but declined, and came back to the States. Since then, you've gone from promotion to promotion, and you showed up in Florida two years ago."

She was nodding as he spoke, and he wondered if she would divulge the reasons behind the blank spot on her wrestling career. A year of no matches or appearances usually meant a serious injury, but Charles had told him that the only injury she'd ever had was a sprained ankle.

"Then last summer you signed with Charles, and here we are," he finished, eyeing her carefully. She made no mention of her year off, and he wondered if she had taken the time to work non-wrestling jobs to save up some money.

"Here we are," she echoed with a smile.

* * *

The house was quiet when he let himself in. He nudged the door shut and locked it, instinctively reaching to reset the alarm before it could chirp at him. Weary after a long day at the Performance Center followed by a flight cursed with turbulence, he left his suitcase and coat by the door and mounted the stairs. He peeked in at the girls, not daring to enter their rooms in case he woke them.

He hesitated at the closed door of the master bedroom. Then, muttering a curse, he entered. The TV was on but muted, its glow providing enough light for him to see that Stephanie was asleep. He crossed the room, glancing to and from the TV when he saw an old movie was playing. One he was in the bathroom he closed the door, leaving his clothes in a trail while he made his way to the shower, pausing to set his phone on the counter next to the sink. He heard it buzz while he leaned to turn on the hot water.

Not recognizing the number, he almost ignored the text, but the words leapt at him.

 _Sorry this is so late, but I just wanted to thank you again for today. I've still got new kid nerves. And you really helped me. I look forward to learning more from you, and from the other awesome people here at the Center. – Sophia_

Weariness forgotten for a moment, he smiled. He loved spending time with the group at the Performance Center, and thought the term "new kids" was a bit misleading. Surely he learned as much from them as they learned from him. He wasn't sure how he'd helped her that day. They'd just chatted about nonsensical things during breaks.

 _Anytime. Keep up the good work. I'll see you next week._

Once under the sting of the water, he felt the fatigue and aches start to melt away. He washed then stood under the water for a long time. Just when he was about to get out he heard the door open. Head jerking up, he spotted Stephanie as she entered. The door closed with a snap, and he watched her blurred figure move towards the shower.

"When did you get in?" she asked after he turned off the water.

"About thirty minutes ago." A clean towel appeared above the door and he took it. "I didn't wake you—"

"No, I just woke up."

He breathed a sigh of relief while toweling off. Opening the frosted glass door, he stilled at the sight of her.

She gave a toss of her head, the tendrils of hair that concealed her breasts moving behind her shoulders. Then she was stepping forward. Her hands, cool and insistent, landed on his biceps and began to rub. She leaned up, murmuring his name gently, and then her lips were on his.

He recognized the kiss immediately. The tilt of her head, the rippling of her tongue over his, the way her hand slid up to hold onto his neck. He knew it well after so many years of marriage.

Sex. She wanted sex.

And he realized as she pushed her chest against his, she wanted it now.

His body responded before his mind could tell it not to. It had been too long. Months of sleeping in the spare room had gotten to him. He knew he could have, because there were always women willing to, but he hadn't been able to take that plunge. So it had just been him and his hand. And his very stunted imagination.

He dropped the towel and grabbed her waist. She gave a pleased little sigh as he guided her towards the bedroom. On autopilot, he returned her kiss. She broke away, turned her back to him, and leaned to push the covers back. Then, to his surprise, she stepped away from the bed, muttering something under her breath while turning off the bathroom light. He reached for her when she returned but instead of reaching back she picked up the TV remote and switched off the TV.

"Okay," she said in the darkness. She moved, causing his hand to fall from her hip, and he sighed. "Come on."

There was something brisk and businesslike in her voice. As though he was an unexpected appointment that had to be dealt with quickly. Approaching, he reached out with one hand. It brushed her thigh. He felt around in the dark, biting his lip when he found her slick folds. Something rankled in the back of his mind but he pushed it away, other hand dropping to stroke himself as he began fingering her.

"Paul," she said impatiently.

He pulled his fingers out and knelt behind her on the bed. Just when he was about to enter her, she stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

"Don't come inside me," she instructed. Her hand fell away, and he felt her wriggle.

He didn't like the impersonal aspect of it. She was acting like… Gripping her hip, he tried not to think of his wife acting like a bored hooker. She wriggled again, slick heat sliding over the tip, and he drew in a ragged breath, fingers digging in as he swiftly entered her.

A soft, breathy moan. That was the sum of her reaction and he felt disgusted with himself. She didn't move. She didn't respond when he began to thrust. She didn't even speak; she merely stayed on all fours. He tried to be as impassive as she seemed to be, but the disgust won over the desire for fulfillment. Closing his eyes, he managed to keep going for several long moments, then stopped, pulling out with a sigh of regret.

She said something but he didn't hear her, already off the bed and halfway to the bathroom. Once inside he closed the door behind him, dragging a hand down his face. Still repulsed, he snatched a washcloth off the shelf after turning on the light and, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, turned on the water in the sink.

His dick, still hard, straining, twitched and he groaned. Doing his best to ignore the deep longing to come, he washed himself with the cloth, hissing at the sensation. Then, because the desire wouldn't go away, he closed his eyes and began to stroke his cock gently.

He heard his phone buzz and jerked his head up, having forgotten it was by the sink. One glance and he saw it was a text from Sophia. No, he told himself, pushing the phone away. Better not to go there. Closing his eyes again, he focused on fisting his cock.

But he pictured her, sweaty. Her eyes gleaming with delight as she lay in the center of the ring. Her hair an untamed cloud of auburn curls. Spurred on, his hand moved faster over his dick, and he forced his thoughts in a different direction. His mind betrayed him, though, and just before he came he recalled her firm breasts and the way her curls had bounced against them.

"Fuck," he moaned, hand moving slowly as his body tensed.

Breathless, he grabbed the edge of the sink with both hands. His shoulders rose and fell as he gave his body a few moments to recover. Then, grabbing another cloth, he washed himself again, making sure to wipe down the sink as well. He turned off the water then, not caring that Stephanie hated when he did it, he swiped the steam from the mirror with one hand. Staring at himself for a long moment, he shook his head.

"No better than her," he muttered under his breath. Disgust renewed, he turned away, reaching for a towel to tuck around his waist. As an afterthought he grabbed his phone.

Stephanie was asleep when he crept through the bedroom. The TV was back on, casting shadows across her peaceful expression. With another shake of his head, he left and made his way to the guest room, where he slept fitfully.


	3. Part Three

**A/N: I didn't forget this story, either! :) Also, this was originally supposed to be a three-part story, but it has been expanded to four parts. One more to go. Enjoy!**

Part Three

 _Winter 2014_

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas…"

Paul inwardly cringed at the grating, off-key voice that screeched the lyrics to what had been, up until that moment, one of his favorite Christmas songs. The shrieking witch – woman, he supposed – continued, each verse worse than the last. Finally he threw down his pen and stood, leaving his office to find the source of what sounded like a wounded animal.

The Performance Center was sparsely decorated for the upcoming holidays. His office had a poinsettia, given to him by Marie to brighten up the room she called a dungeon, and there were a few Santa hats and a string of twinkling lights up in the training area. He had thought about having a tree put up, but it seemed a waste of time and money. The kitchen and lounge upstairs had a small tree the women had bought and decorated together, and someone had hung garland around all the doors along the corridor of offices. That was enough, he supposed, considering everyone would soon be enjoying two weeks of downtime.

Following the sound of the voice, he found himself in the training area. It was late, nearly nine he was sure, and as such the building was almost desolate. But he recognized the figure running the ropes in the center ring. Horrified to learn that such an attractive woman possessed the voice of a banshee, he approached, trying to keep his grimace from showing.

Resting his hands on the apron, he waited until she'd come to a stop before speaking. "How long have you been at this?"

A sweaty Sophia dropped to her knees just inside the ropes. Grabbing the bottle of water next to the ring post, she wiped her arm across her forehead. "What time is it?"

Paul checked his watch. "Ten to nine."

"Four hours. Mr. Regal said I need to work on it until I no longer look as though I were crashing into a brick wall." She took a hearty swig from the bottle and rolled her shoulders.

"He didn't mean for you to wear yourself out in one night." Paul took the water from her and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Out."

"Bossy," she muttered with a snort. But she rolled out of the ring, grabbing the towel hanging over the bottom rope. "Why are you here so late?"

"Paperwork. I don't want to be down here the day after Christmas."

She nodded, using the towel to mop the sweat from her face. "I'm still trying to figure out what I'll be doing for the next two weeks."

"You're not going home for the holidays?"

"Um…" She bent, retrieving her small bag from the floor. "No, I'm not."

"Too far away?" he guessed, surprised to realize he had no idea where her home was. He knew she'd once worked on the West Coast, and overseas, before making her way to Florida.

"Not really." Fishing out her phone, she glanced at the screen briefly before shoving it back into the bag and rummaging. After a few seconds she pulled out a tube of lip balm and, while rolling her shoulders, began to dab it against her lips. Her eyebrows lifted comically when she realized he was looking at her. Pressing her lips together, she slipped the lip balm into the bag. "I don't really have a home to go to."

"I didn't know." More questions rose in his mind but he didn't voice them. It was none of his business. As long as she continued to work hard and improve her body of work, he had no reason to investigate the rest of her life. "Hey, Dusty, Regal, and Matt will be in and out, so if you want to come in, just call one of them and set up a time, okay?"

"I don't want to be a bother." She smiled, draping the towel around her neck. "I'll be fine, promise."

"Have you gotten settled into your apartment?" He'd overheard her mentioning to Dusty a few weeks before that she had finally signed a lease on a place. Paul suddenly wondered if she'd been sleeping in hotel rooms until then.

"I've finally gotten a couch," she answered with a chuckle. "And I've gotten a lot of stuff. I just need to get all the things out of their boxes and where they belong."

"Then you won't be bored over your two week break," he suggested.

"True." She fished out her phone again and tapped the screen rapidly. "Although I'm sure it'll take longer than two weeks to get everything set up. My TV's still in its box." Before he could comment, she boosted herself up to sit on the apron and sent him a smile. "I'll be leaving soon. My ride's on the way."

"What happened to your car?" He distinctly remembered her having a car. He'd seen her get into it the night they'd met.

"I don't know. It was working fine… Okay, the 'check engine' light has been on it since I got it, but it was running fine. Well, except for the rattle whenever I went above forty miles per hour. Still, it was okay. I went to get dinner one night and it was fine. The next morning when I started it, the engine made this weird noise." She puckered her lips and imitated a small explosion. "So it's at the shop being fixed. The guy's waiting on a new… Thingie."

"Ah, a thingie." Paul nodded.

She laughed. "I sound like a stereotypical woman don't I? But I really don't remember what it's called. I just know it's going to be seven hundred to get it, and god only knows how much for the guy to put it in. Plus there are about two dozen other things that need fixing. And I have no idea how long it's going to take, so I've been begging rides for the past week."

"Sounds like you need to just get something newer," he suggested, leaning against the apron. "Or at least, something more reliable."

"I'm going to look into it after New Year's. What with getting into the apartment and having to buy so much… I don't know." She shrugged. "Hopefully my old one can last long enough for me to afford a replacement."

Thinking of the new car that would be delivered to his home in Connecticut the day before Christmas, Paul could only nod. How spoiled he was now, he thought with a small frown. He never had to worry about how he would be able to afford a new vehicle. He even paid his assistant a little extra to keep up with the maintenance schedules on all the cars in his and Stephanie's garage. Cars that were rarely used more than once a week. "Tell you what," he said suddenly, lightly tapping the canvas beneath his hand. "Talk to Dusty."

"About a car?"

"Dusty knows everybody and their brother. He can also out-swindle the devil himself, so he can help you get a decent car at a decent price." She looked ready to argue, so he held up a hand. "You need reliable transportation, Sophia. Especially once you're appearing at live shows."

"I know," she murmured, shoulders rising and falling with a sigh. "I'll call him tomorrow."

"Good girl."

"I've been meaning to tell you…" Sophia paused and glanced at her phone. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For giving me this chance." Her arms extended, hands motioning to the training area. "Two years ago I wouldn't have even dreamed that I'd be here. It's… Well, I'm sure you already know how amazing this place is. I just need you to know how grateful I am for the opportunity."

"You earned it," he promised. Essentially, he'd had little to do with signing her to the company. Regal had discovered her. Regal had gotten her work history and tapes of her work. Regal had all but insist she be signed to the company. "The only thanks I need is you busting your ass to prove to everyone else that you earned this. But no more running the ropes for four hours."

"I didn't literally run the ropes the entire time," she muttered. She turned her face towards him and he saw her cheeks were pink. "I worked on my dropkick."

He looked into the ring and saw the dummy the trainees used to practice moves before they were deemed good enough to work with others. "Alright, let's see it."

Sophia rolled into the ring before all the words left his mouth. He smiled at her exuberance and pulled himself up to stand on the apron. With a smile, she handed her phone to him and, after tossing the towel over the middle rope, moved to pull the dummy into the center of the ring. He watched her back into the furthest corner, ignoring the way her gentle curves bounced as she jogged in place. Instead, he dropped his gaze to her feet, studying their movement while she moved forward. She lifted them, connecting with the dummy's chest. He followed her down, unconsciously shaking his head when she landed on her side. Setting her phone down, he stepped through the ropes and caught her hand to pull her to her feet.

"Your execution is good. But you need to work on your landing." Her hand was soft in his. "Dropping on your elbow is going to destroy the joint."

"I know." She exhaled briskly, sending a lock of her curly hair dancing against her forehead.

"Once you've connected, use your opponent as a springboard to push your body back. The momentum will take them down, and you can go straight down. Flat on your back."

"Again?" she requested.

"Again." He thought he felt her squeeze his hand but she was slipping away before he could be sure. Stepping back to watch her do it again, he couldn't help the smile that pulled on his lips when she executed the move. Despite its heavy base, the dummy tipped over. Sophia landed flat on her back, and Paul released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he saw she had tucked her chin down. "Just like that," he encouraged.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Keep working on it, it'll get better."

"Practice makes perfect. That's what Mr. Regal always says."

"He's right." Paul used his foot to bring the dummy upright, then propped his elbow on its shoulder. "You're good, Sophia. Better than good. But everyone needs extra practice and work when they get here. Don't let it get you down, okay?"

"I won't." She began to lightly slap the dummy's chest. "I just worry, because…" She sighed. "When we're doing training matches, I get so focused on the moves I'm doing that I sometimes forget how to sell the story we're telling. You told us a few weeks ago that every match is a story, and I worry that I won't be able to tell it properly."

"They are stories. But you can think of them as paragraphs in a story, too. Each move is a sentence. A statement that adds to the story you're ultimately going to tell."

"Sami was saying something like that. He said that the moves are all statements, and the pin is the end. It's up to us to make it an exclamation point and not just a period."

"Zayn's a smart guy, so listen to him."

"I will." She smiled up at him, her light green eyes shining. "Thanks again, Paul. For what I said earlier, and for your help just now. I know you're a busy man, and I appreciate you taking the time to give me pointers."

"I'll never be too busy for you," he promised softly. A warning bell went off in the back of his mind when he realized how close she was to him. He could just catch the faint aroma of coconuts, but what gave him pause was her eyes. They were wide open, almost sparkling in the light. And they were brimming with warmth and honesty and…

"Paul?" she murmured.

He froze. Her hand was on his arm, and he could feel the heat of her breath on his lips. Her fingers slid over his bicep, brushed his chest, and he heard her sudden inhalation. "Sophia, I—"

The door leading to the reception area clanged open. As though he'd been slapped, Paul moved away from her, drawing in a calming breath. He looked across the room to see their intruder, brow lifting when he recognized the man loping towards the ring.

"You ready to go, Soph?" Dean Ambrose was grinning. Looking to Paul, he gave a quick nod. "How's it going?"

"Yeah, I'm ready." She was already slipping out of the ring. Turning, she smiled up at Paul. "Thanks again for your help."

"Anytime," he assured, watching her gather her phone, bag, and bottled water. Stepping through the ropes, he hopped down and clapped his hand against Dean's when it was extended. He hadn't realized she and Dean were friends.

More than friends, he thought, not liking the sour taste that filled his mouth when Dean took her bag and threw his arm around her shoulders.

The younger man was smiling. "You hungry?"

"Starving." She was smiling back. "You buying?"

"Don't I always?"

They both looked to Paul expectantly. Surely they weren't inviting him along. "I better get that paperwork finished," he said. "I'll see you in two weeks, Sophia."

"I'll be here. Have a good Christmas."

"Yeah, Merry Christmas," Dean added.

"Merry Christmas," Paul echoed, watching them leave. At the door, Sophia glanced back and sent him another smile, effectively erasing the strange irritation he'd felt since Dean's arrival. Once they were gone, he pushed away from the ring. He made his way back to his office. He hated the silence that had descended. He hated the loneliness that enveloped him as he sat behind his desk and tried to focus on his paperwork.

He hated himself for wanting to kiss Sophia.

* * *

 _Christmas Eve, 2014_

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…"

Paul smiled indulgently as Aurora began reading the poem. It had been a tradition since Aurora's first Christmas, when she had been too young to understand the excitement. Looking at her now, so much bigger and so mature, cross-legged in her bed with her younger sisters on either side of her, it was difficult to remember her when she had been so small. When she had needed him and her mother for every little thing. But he remembered. He had a feeling that no matter how big she grew, how mature she became, he would always remember that tiny baby that the nurse had handed over to him.

Vaughan already looked sleepy, and Paul didn't have the heart to chastise her for sucking her thumb. She would grow out of it soon. Murphy had, and now she cringed whenever he brought up her thumb-sucking days. He was half-tempted to dig out some old photos to show her, because being a father meant embarrassing the life out of his daughters, right?

"…Gave a lustre of midday to objects below—"

"What's that mean?" Murphy asked.

Aurora turned her big eyes in Paul's direction. "Daddy," she whispered. "What's 'lustre of midday' mean?"

"It means the snow and the moonlight made it look as bright and shiny as the middle of the day," he answered, keeping his voice soft. Three heads nodded in understanding, and he smiled again. Gone were the days when they just enjoyed the rise and fall of poetry. Gone were the days when he could give a ridiculous answer that they would take as the truth. He grinned, remembering the time he had Aurora and Murphy convinced the sun was made of mustard.

He settled back on the window seat, letting himself enjoy the melodious tone of Aurora's voice as she continued the poem. She had always loved reading, and as she grew older he was sometimes shocked by her reading choices. He couldn't remember his sister reading thick, historic tomes at the age of nine. He couldn't remember himself reading them at all. At least, not until the past year, when he'd decided it was time to take an interest in hers. Had someone told him ten years before that he would have stayed up late to read Jane Austen so he could have something new to discuss with his daughter, he would have said they were crazy. Thinking of the several books he'd purchased – from the list she'd given him, of course – that were waiting downstairs for her to unwrap in the morning, he smiled. Looking to his watch as the poem came to a close, he marveled at the quickness of time. There were still things he needed to do before he could hope to catch a few hours of sleep.

Hopefully, when he went downstairs, Stephanie would have already started on some of it. Surprisingly, she'd been in a bubbly mood all day. Usually Christmastime made her moody. He didn't question it, though. He just hoped it would last through the next day. His main wish for Christmas was that the girls had a magical time filled with excitement and joy.

"But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—" Aurora cleared her throat before attempting a deep, jolly voice. "' _Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!_ '"

"The end!" Vaughan announced, suddenly not looking so sleepy after all. "Again!"

"Oh no," Paul laughed, slipping off the window seat and taking the dog-eared book from Aurora before she could flip back to the beginning. Pushing it onto the bookshelf, he ignored the girls' groans and turned to scoop Vaughan into his arms. "You've heard it three times, that's enough. Now what do you tell your sisters?"

"G'night," she said as she was set on the floor. She scrambled back onto the bed and between her sisters. "I'm sleeping in here."

"No you're not." Aurora somehow managed to hug her youngest sister and nudge her away at the same time.

"Go get in your beds. I'll be there in a minute to tuck you in," Paul told Vaughan and Murphy. Once they'd skipped out, still exuberant, he shook his head and leaned to kiss Aurora's cheek. "Good night, Princess. What are you reading tonight?"

She lifted the book from her bedside table. "I want to read the last part of _A Christmas Carol_ again. I finished it last night."

"Did you like it?" he asked, waiting while she situated herself for a reading session. Tucking the blanket over her legs, he pressed another kiss to her cheek.

"Yeah. Daddy?" She fiddled with the end of the bookmark peeking from between the pages. "Can people change in one night like that?"

"Sometimes." Better to leave her with some hopes than crush her innocence on Christmas Eve.

"Good." She smiled, obviously relieved, and opened the book. "If Scrooge was a mean old man who became the best person in the city, why do we call grumpy people Scrooge? Shouldn't we call good people Scrooge instead?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "When you think of Scrooge, what do you think of?"

"Him counting his coins and being mean to his nephew."

"Then there you go. He changed, but everyone still thinks of him as the old miser that cared only about his money." Paul gathered the mugs from the girls' hot chocolate. "Sweet dreams, Princess."

"Love you, Daddy."

After tucking in Murphy, and warning her to not stay up too late reading her copy of _A Christmas Carol_ , and after dealing with a hyper Vaughan that finally fell asleep while he told her of the most boring day he'd ever had, Paul carried the mugs downstairs and placed them in the kitchen sink. Through the large window overlooking the back lawn he could see more snow falling. From the living room came the subdued strains of Christmas songs. He followed the music, surprised to see Stephanie on the couch flipping through an old photo album. Wrapped presents were piled beneath and around the Christmas tree, and he paused in the doorway to take in the sight.

For the moment, all was quiet. Serene, even. The corner where the tree stood was picture perfect. In just a few short hours, it would be a scene of ripped paper, strewn bows, and empty boxes. He would be struggling to keep his eyes open while waiting for his coffee to brew. The phone would start ringing off the hook with calls from family and friends. The TV would be blaring with a holiday-themed cartoon or movie. The girls would be squealing and talking over each other. There would be a late breakfast, eaten in haste, then mad scrambling to shower and dress and get to Stephanie's parents' house for dinner. Where there would be more eating, more squealing and talking over each other, more cartoons and movies, more ripped paper and bows and boxes. Then the slow drive around town to see Christmas lights, during which the girls would fall asleep clutching their favorite gift of the day. Then home, to dirty dishes and a destroyed living room, where he'd pass out from exhaustion.

He couldn't wait.

There was an opened bottle of wine on the coffee table. Two glasses were next to it, one empty and one half-filled. As he made his way into the room Stephanie leaned to retrieve the half-filled glass. She looked to him in surprise, then glanced at the clock on the mantel.

"Are they asleep?"

"Visions of sugarplums are dancing in their heads."

"Like they even know what sugarplums are," she snorted.

"Did you get everything?"

"Yes." Her gaze was on the photo album again, and she sipped her whine while turning the page. "But you can check behind me."

He would, in a minute. Glancing to the photos she was looking at as he moved to sit, he quirked a brow. "Halloween?"

"From nine years ago," she confirmed.

He looked at the photos, barely able to remember the party they had been taken at. He recognized himself in one, but most were of Stephanie with other partygoers. "That was before Aurora."

"Mm-hmm."

She obviously didn't want him bugging her, so he leaned to pour himself a glass of wine, trying to remember life before children. Years of empty days with few responsibilities, when he could blare music and walk around his own home in just his underwear. Or naked, if he wanted. Thinking of the three sometimes-angels sleeping upstairs, he mentally shook his head. He wouldn't trade them for all the music and nudity in the world.

"Look at this one," she said, pushing the album towards him and tapping a photo with her finger. "Chris was hysterical that night."

He caught the corner of the album to steady it, chuckling at the picture of Chris Jericho, dressed like a caveman with a woman thrown over his shoulder. "He's always hysterical."

"Yes."

Paul had another look at the picture before she pulled the album away. Taking a sip of wine, he barely tasted it, having suddenly recognized the backside and legs of the woman on Chris' shoulder. Glancing to Stephanie, he felt the wine turn sour in his throat when he saw the small, pleased smile pulling at her lips. He wanted to ask, but couldn't form the words. It had been so long ago. What did it matter now? Setting his glass down, he got to his feet. "I'm going to go check—"

"Go ahead and ask me, Paul," she interrupted.

"I don't want to know."

"Yes you do." She tipped her glass to finish the contents. "You're dying to know if I fucked him."

He winced at the words, spoken as one would about the weather. "Steph—"

"I did."

Mood souring, Paul dragged a hand over his face. "When?"

"That night." She shrugged one shoulder and turned the page. "He was okay."

"I'll be sure and tell him," Paul muttered. Jericho. One of his closest friends. The person who'd actually been giving him marriage advice. The one who'd always been so concerned that Paul and Stephanie were doing well. And always asked after the girls. Especially Aurora. He never failed to check up on…

Whipping around to face his wife, he opened his mouth to ask the question that was suddenly burning in his mind. But he couldn't. Wondering who she had slept with was one thing, but asking such an accusing question was another thing altogether. And, to his horror, he realized he didn't want the answer. Because he already knew.

"Is something wrong?" she asked sweetly.

"No," he whispered.

"It's not the end of the world."

Yes, it was. The end of his world, as he knew it. And she looked… Smug. She had the audacity to look smug. He supposed holding onto that little secret for nine years had chewed at her – she'd never been one to hold onto secrets for long – but it had no doubt made her feel proud. Proud that she'd slept with his friend. Proud that she had, at least in her mind, done something that made her superior to him.

"It's not like she looks like him." Stephanie closed the album and rose, casually crossing the room to put it in its place on the shelf. As though she hadn't just ripped the rug out from under him. "Maybe a little around the eyes, but his eyes are like yours, so no one will ever know."

"How—" He cut off, unable to stand the hoarseness of his voice. Clearing his throat, he felt the burn of bile starting to rise. She turned to look at him, lifting her chin. He recognized the movement. Her silent way of daring him to say or do something. Refusing to be reduced to her tactics, he shook his head bitterly and left the room.

He went upstairs, where he stood in the doorway of Aurora's room for what felt like hours. He watched her sleep, her hand tucked under the pillow and her lips parted. She was dreaming, he could tell. Occasionally she would make a small noise, and at least twice he saw her foot moving beneath the covers. Even though he couldn't clearly see her face, he knew she was serene. Happy. He always knew her moods. He had ever since she'd been born. And he would for the rest of his life. Creeping into the room, he leaned over and carefully pulled the blankets up over her shoulder. He was rewarded with a sigh as she shifted. Closing the book that lay open on her bedside table, he leaned further and softly kissed her cheek.

"It doesn't matter," he whispered, carefully smoothing a lock of hair away from her face.

She smiled in her sleep.

And he knew it really didn't matter.


	4. Part Four

**A/N: Waaaayyyy later than I originally intended, but here is the final part of this little prequel. I hope it has answered some questions, although it's probably raised more as well. Thank you all for your reviews and support!**

Part Four

 _Spring 2015_

Paul had just settle in with a beer and a stack of contract negotiations when there was a knock at the door. With a sigh, he set down the beer and pushed the papers onto the coffee table. Hadn't Dusty mentioned dropping by to go over the plans for the upcoming European tour? There were only a few more weeks before they headed out. Paul was looking forward to the visit. He and Dusty always communicated better away from the office.

But when he opened the door, it wasn't Dusty.

"Chris," he greeted, voice flat.

"How's it going?" Chris grinned and gestured to the bag of takeout he was holding. "I figured I'd drop by and we'd hang out."

"Not interested." Paul moved to close the door and felt his anger flare when Chris pushed his foot out to keep it from slamming in his face.

"What the fuck is up with you?" he demanded. His usually cheerful face was drawn in irritation. "You've had a stick up your ass about something since Christmas."

Paul stepped back, letting Chris enter and kick the door shut. How could he not know? He was honestly surprised that Stephanie hadn't rushed to tell the man that Paul had learned the truth. Did Chris even know? Taking in a deep breath, he counted to five before answering. "I didn't have the best Christmas."

"Did you and Steph have a fight?"

"Not exactly."

"Kids didn't like what they got? I know Aurora told me she loved the stuff Santa gave her."

The muscle in Paul's jaw twitched. "When did you talk to Aurora?"

Chris looked up from spreading the food out on the coffee table. To Paul's further irritation, he scooped up the sheaf of papers and tossed them onto the couch. "I talk to her a couple times a week. Steph likes to keep in touch."

Before he could stop himself, he swung out. His fist connected with Chris' chin. Shocked at his behavior, he was about to apologize when the punch was reciprocated. Jaw on fire, he saw red and launched forward.

Later, lying in the rubble of the broken coffee table, surrounded by the remains of what had been the meal that Chris had brought, he hissed in pain. There was food everywhere. Papers too, he realized. Sitting up, he winced, braced one palm against his ribcage. His knuckles were stinging, and he wasn't sure whose blood it was smeared on his fingers. He got to his feet gingerly, glaring at the prone Chris, and kicked away an empty Styrofoam container. The room reeked of Chinese food.

"Get out," he panted when Chris began to stir.

"Paul—"

"I said get out," he shouted. "I'm done with you."

"Just because I fucked your wife ten years ago? Shit, man, I thought you knew long before now." Chris plucked bits of rice from his chest.

Paul ignored the question and waited at the door. He felt…nothing. Not anger. Not self-pity. If anything, he felt a little disgust for the man he'd once considered a close friend. Gently closing the door once Chris had limped out, he stared at the destruction of his living room and groaned. Just as he was moving to start cleaning there was another knock at the door. Irritation flared again and he wrenched the door open. "Look, I fucking told you—"

"You fuckin' told me what?"

"Ah, hell," Paul muttered, seeing that it was Dusty Rhodes. "Sorry. Come on in."

"What the ever-loving hell have you done in here?" Dusty asked, surveying the living room with a look of revulsion. "Looks like a bunch of hogs just tore through."

"Not a bunch." Paul tentatively licked his bottom lip. He tasted blood and sighed. "Just two."

"What did that Jericho boy do now?" Dusty sidestepped the main area of carnage and hovered in the doorway leading to the kitchen. "I saw him getting in his car when I pulled up."

"I don't want to talk about it." His beer had been spilled during the brawl, and he saw the empty bottle had rolled into the corner. He had no idea where to start cleaning. Sighing, he headed into the kitchen and took two fresh beers out of the fridge. Once he'd handed one to Dusty, he peeled off his shirt and cleaned up as best he could in the small sink.

"You know what you need to do," Dusty said after they'd sat at the table for several quiet moments of drinking.

"Yeah," Paul grunted. "Beg the lady that cleans for me once a week to come in the morning."

"That too…" Dusty leaned back in his chair and sighed. "You need to take a little break."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "And just how am I supposed to do that?"

"Well…" The older man cleared his throat and took another swig of his beer. "I've had an idea that I wanted to go over with you…"

* * *

The air was cleaner out here. That was always his first thought upon arriving at Shawn's ranch. On the drive from the airport Paul had felt the stress of recent months melting away. It could have been the location – the middle of nowhere – but he knew it had more to do with the company than anything else. Shawn had the ability to get him to relax without even having to try.

Shawn's truck bounced over the terrain. He'd gone off road as soon as they'd reached his property. Paul braced himself. The bouncing and the wind coming through the windows made conversation impossible. Not that he minded. Sometimes, with Shawn, words weren't necessary. It sounded corny, even to him, but the statement was true.

He turned to look out the back window and saw the two vans carrying the NXT roster traveling the path leading to the sprawling ranch house. Shawn turned, and he lost sight of them. As he turned frontward again, the truck skidded to a stop.

Shawn cut the engine and tipped his hat back. "Want to talk about it?"

Paul stared out at the panoramic view of ranchland. There were clearings and forest. Inconspicuous sheds and other outbuildings. He could smell grass and wood and hay and animals. Birds twittered, insects buzzed. The truck's engine clicked as it cooled. It was a soundtrack of peace. He felt the last of the stress fade and sighed. "Sure."

And he did. The words poured from him, a steady stream of his worries and his angers. Things he'd thought he would never tell another soul rolled off his tongue with no hesitation. Stephanie's affairs. Aurora's real father. And more. Even the thoughts he hadn't admitted to himself. Shawn listened, asked no questions, nodding slowly.

"Well," he said once Paul had finished. He rubbed his chin and glanced over, expression sympathetic. "It sounds like you know what you need to do."

Too bad it wasn't that easy. Paul nodded just the same. The worries were still there but they weren't as prominent as they had been. After a few moments of companionable silence, Shawn started up the truck and sent it careening towards the house.

Dusty's idea had been genius. A field trip to Shawn's ranch was just what they needed. It took them away from the rigidity of the Performance Center, and gave them all an opportunity to relax. There would still be training, but Dusty had arranged what he called life training. They would all get the chance to talk one on one with Shawn about balancing life and career and keeping their feet on the ground. The ranch had countless trails for them to hike and run, and the guest house boasted an excellent gym that would be at their disposal. The trip was only for three and a half day, but two hours after they arrived Paul could see just how genius the idea had been.

A crowd of them were in the huge kitchen, cooking enough food for an army. Someone had put music on, and when Paul walked through to get himself some water, he saw Sasha, Bayley, Sophia, and Becky dancing. The atmosphere was one of fun, and he found himself chuckling. Out on the patio, a crowd had taken over the barbecue. With Shawn's help and input, they were filling the air with the delectable aromas of roasting meat.

They ate outside. The conversations were jovial, with Dusty and Shawn holding court by entertaining all with tales of good times. Paul laughed the hardest when they began mimicking him in his early days.

Shawn took a group to explore a trail after dinner. The rest helped clean up and, one by one, wandered off to their rooms or to a quiet place. Paul headed to the gym. He was about to tuck earphones into his ears when he realized he wasn't the only one who'd wanted a workout.

Sophia was stretching in front of a mirror. Her hair was gathered into a pile of curls on top of her head. Momentarily transfixed, Paul watched the graceful movements of her arms and legs. Listened to her deep, even breaths. He wondered what music was playing through her earphones. He wondered what she was thinking.

He wondered if she was happy.

She raised her head, eyes meeting his in the mirror. Her lips tilted into a warm smile, and she lifted onto her toes and turned to face him. "This place is amazing. How Mr. Michaels can ever bear to leave it is beyond me."

"He doesn't, often," Paul chuckled. "And when he does, he bitches nonstop until he's back home."

"I'm going to tell him you said that," she teased. "Did you want to work out? Because I can go—"

"You're fine," he insisted, waving one hand. "There's enough room for both of us."

* * *

He awoke before dawn. The strange bed in a strange room befuddled him for a moment, but he soon cleared the sleep from his brain. The house was as silent as a tomb as he descended the stairs. One of Shawn's spoiled and faithful dog always took up the bottom step, but when he reached it, he saw the dog wasn't in his usual spot. He passed through the immense great room, which held a few hints of the impromptu board game party the night before. Hearing a soft voice coming from the kitchen, he rounded the corner and stopped.

Sophia.

She was seated cross-legged on the floor, Shawn's dog sprawled over her lap. "I know," she was crooning, rubbing the hound's belly vigorously. "Big man is starving, isn't he? But I don't know if your Pop lets you have treats. For all I know you're only allowed grass-fed organic beef prepared by Tuscan virgins. And your Pop could kick my ass without breaking a sweat, so… As cute as you are, I'm going to have to say no."

"You think he got so fat eating only organic beef?" Paul asked with a grin as he entered the kitchen. "Shawn won't be mad if you slip him a treat or two."

"Hear that? We'll listen to my boss because, well…" Sophia looked at Paul. "Just look at him."

"Oh, come on." Paul moved to start a pot of coffee, and saw the carafe was already starting to fill. "I'm just a teddy bear, Sophia."

"Yeah, because teddy bears regularly do bicep curls with 60 pounds," she scoffed. Easing the dog off her lap, she got to her feet. "Where are his treats?"

"Fridge. Container of cooked bacon."

"Oh, you _are_ spoiled," she lamented to the dog, who watched her with adoration as she went to the fridge.

"How do you like your coffee?" Paul asked, reaching for two mugs.

"Sugar and cream. Lots of cream."

He fixed their coffee while she spoiled the dog further. It occurred to him that she was dressed to go outside, and asked if she was heading out.

"I heard the trail behind the guest house goes through the stomping grounds of a herd of bunnies." She slipped another slice of bacon to the dog and stowed the container in the fridge. "And I figure that the sunrise here should be epic. So I thought I'd explore before breakfast."

With unspoken agreement they ventured outside. Paul led her down a walkway that went to the eastern deck, which he knew from past experience offered the best sunrise view. They stood at the railing, the world coming to life around them the only noise. The sky began to lighten at the horizon. He watched her sip her coffee. Watched her close her eyes and breathe in the predawn air. When the first ray of the rising sun cast a glow in her fiery hair, he felt his breath disappear.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she whispered.

"Breathtaking." He barely glanced at the view. Instead, he continued watching her. There was awe in her expression, a peaceful reverence in the way she placed her hands on the rail. He couldn't think of many people that would be overwhelmed by the view of the sunrise over the countryside. But he'd come to learn that Sophia was unlike anyone he had ever known. With her wild hair and her optimistic attitude. Her positivity and determination.

Her beauty…

"You're not even looking," she chided. Turning her face to him, she pinched her lips together. Then her hands were reaching toward him. Cool palms cupped his cheeks, and he didn't resist when she guided his head to the side so he could see the view. "You really need to remember to stop and smell the roses, Paul."

But all he could smell was her. Coffee and sunshine and fruity shampoo. She smelled better than any rose on earth.

And he knew he was a goner.

* * *

 _Late Spring 2015_

It didn't need a special visit at her home, but he couldn't think of a reason to stay away. Every red light was an opportunity to change his mind. There was an empty parking space directly across the street from her building, though, and he took it as a sign, however minuscule, that he was doing the right thing. Sitting in his car for a bit longer, listening to the gentle clicks of the engine as it cooled down, he tried to come up with a reason why he should let it go until the next day.

Finally, after nearly an hour had passed, he took the key from the ignition and opened the door. He hesitated, then slipped off his ring and tucked it into the center console. Once he stood on the street he closed the door and locked the car, looking up to the random pattern of lighted windows of the upper floors as he crossed the street.

There was not even a semblance of security in the lobby. The outer door opened, and the bank of mailboxes were labeled by apartment number. An 'out of order' sign hung lopsided on the elevator door and he took the stairs to the third floor. At least the stairs and hallways were clean, though the odor of stale cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

Indecision stopped him yet again at her door. There was no sound coming from her apartment, making him think she might be out for the night. Or asleep. From the apartment across the hall he could hear the muffled voices and canned laughter of a sitcom. Standing there, staring at the numbers attached to the door, he sighed. What was he doing? She wouldn't expect to see him. She might not even want to see him. He was about to turn to leave when he heard it.

A gentle thump. That was all he heard, for he was sure he imagined the little sigh that followed.

He didn't realize he was knocking until he felt his knuckles tapping against the door. His senses heightened, he could hear her moving.

"Good God," he heard her mutter, and knew she'd seen him through the peephole.

The chain rattled, the lock clicked, the knob gave a little squeak. Then the door swung open and there she was. Her hair was wild, and there was a splash of what looked like spaghetti sauce on her chest. It drew his attention to the faded t-shirt that was dotted with several small holes, and his gaze naturally dropped to take in the pair of pink flannel shorts that hung low on her hips. Her feet were bare. Her toenails were painted red. Dragging his gaze back up, he took in all the little details. She looked comfortable. She looked a bit unkempt.

She was more beautiful than he'd remembered.

"Paul," she blurted. She shook her head to toss her unruly hair back, and when her eyes met his he saw a flash of worry.

"Sophia. I just…" He shrugged one shoulder, not knowing how to finish the statement. Feeling awkward, as though he had reverted back to his teenaged years, he rubbed the back of his neck.

Then her lips curved into an inviting smile and all his anxiety slipped away. "Come on in," she said softly, stepping back.

Just as he crossed the threshold their eyes met again. And he felt like he was coming home.

~fin


End file.
